nothing blossoms here, this is blighted ground
by goodtruelies
Summary: {A retelling of the Original Trilogy; updated infrequently} / A collection of one-shots for the universe where it is Obi-Wan, and not Anakin, who leaves his humanity burning on the black sands of Mustafar.
1. on the ashes of a burnt chapel

[A/N] AKA the sith!Obi-Wan AU that no one asked for, but we all kinda lowkey wanted. This is also crossposted to AO3, if that's your thing.

 **on the ashes of a burnt chapel**

"Space is cold, darling."

She remembered the gentle curve of her father's mouth as he had said it. She had been ten and small for her age, dressed in senatorial whites that were still a little too big for her, shivering in the aft compartment of the cruiser on her first trip to Coruscant. He had crouched down in front of her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he draped his heavy cloak over her shoulders. It was all thick fur and heavy velvet, and it still smelled a bit like banked fires and the sharp scent of the starblossoms that flowered at the foot of the palace's retaining wall. Like home, Leia had thought as she fingered the broach on the collar that was scribed with the Aldaraanian royal symbol and smiled up at him.

She whispered it silently to herself now, over and over again, as she pressed her back against the icy black metal that formed the walls of her holding cell. Space was cold, and the shivers going down her spine were not fear. The low, bass thudding in her ears was the sound of the engines of the space station cycling down, not the panicked beating of her heart. She was Princess Leia Organa, of Aldaraan, and she was not afraid.

She stiffened when the door to her cell whisked back in its housing, rumors of new, dangerous interrogation droids burned into her memory. But instead it revealed a small squad of stormtroopers, and she stood up, back straight, every inch the wrongly accused senator.

"Come with us," the lead trooper said in clipped tones, his voice slightly robotic through his helmet's filters.

She swept past him, head held high, and found herself enveloped by the squad as they lead her through the station's cavernous hallways.

 **...**

She had just begun to grow tired of the endless identical hallways when they reached their destination, a spacious boardroom like any one of the hundreds of boardrooms she'd been in before. Standing before the viewport with his hands folded neatly behind his back was the skeletal form of Grand Moff Tarkin, and sitting at the far end of the highly polished table was a man dressed in plain black robes, pouring over a set of datapads. At the sound of the door, the Moff turned around.

"Ah, Princess Leia," he said, smirking slightly. "So glad you could join us."

"A senator lives to serve," she replied, loosely folding her hands in front of her. "But I don't think arresting a senator on a diplomatic mission will reflect too well on _your_ service, governor."

"I would be more concerned about how words like _conspirator_ and _traitor_ will reflect on yours," he said, unruffled. "But why don't you sit. Master Kenobi has been waiting for a chance to meet you."

At that, the man at the end of the table looked up, and Leia froze, pinned by the spike of adrenaline that shot down her spine. He had a neat, close cropped beard and short hair, both a pale grey, and when his mouth twisted into a welcoming smile, the expression had the bite of a vibroblade about it.

"Senator, please do sit down," he said, gesturing to the seat just to his right. "I must admit that even I get tired walking around this station, and I'd rather like to discuss something with you."

The stormtrooper behind her had to nudge her forward with the muzzle of his blaster before she moved to sit. Master Kenobi's eyes were a strange shade of amber, and they didn't leave her as she sat, piercing straight through her even though the expression on his face was perfectly mild. It was only when he finally looked back down at the datapads that she found her voice.

"Of course. How may I be of assistance, Master Kenobi?" she said, squaring her shoulders and starring at the side of his face.

At that, he stood up, sweeping up the datapads in one hand, leaving her to stare at the black cloak he'd left draped over the back of his chair. From everything her father had told her about the man, about his position and his power, she had imagined that he would dress in silks and heavy furs like any powerful senator. But he wore plain tunics, and the cloak was the same rough homespun cloth that could be found on the backs of farmers across hundreds of systems. Even Leia, in her simple synthsilk gown, wearing no other decoration besides the symbols of her station on her belt, looked more like the kind of person who could change the balance of power in the senate with a single word.

"Now, Senator Organa," he said, spreading the pads out in front of her on the table. "I'm sure all of this is very familiar to you."

But looks could be deceiving, Leia reminded herself as she looked down at the first display and bit the inside of her cheek to keep her face emotionless. She made a great show of reading through the information on the first pad, and then skimmed the rest of them. It was impossible. He shouldn't have such detailed information about not only the Rebellion's past installations, but about its leaders as well.

This was war. The Rebellion had spent the past fourteen years nipping at the Empire's heels, gathering power, disrupting what it could. But now, with the completion of a station with the firepower of the Death Star and the aide of what was obviously a much better developed information network than the Rebellion had previously realized, there could be no more arguments for a diplomatic negation or a localized coup. They no longer had that luxury.

"What do you want from me," she asked, looking up to meet his eyes as he stood over her.

"Dropping the pretense, Senator," he said, humor coloring his tone.

She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him pointedly.

At that, he actually did chuckle, albeit quietly, and moved away from her towards Tarkin, tucking his hands into opposite sleeves as he did so.

"I want the name of the planet where the Rebel base is located, of course," he said, more to the viewport than her.

"I don't know," she replied immediately.

Somehow she could tell that he was frowning even though he didn't turn around, and when he replied his voice was frigid. "Don't lie to me, Senator. If you don't cooperate, I will have to provide some incentive."

Leia swallowed shallowly. "You can't torture me for information I don't have."

He turned halfway back towards her, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, no. I wouldn't waste both of our valuable time on such a futile exercise. You are not the type of woman who would give up information so easily. There are other, more productive, ways to negotiate."

With that, he stepped away from the window, allowing her a clear view. Directly before her, nestled like a jewel on black velvet, was Aldaraan, marbled green and blue and white, fist sized, and serene.

"Aldaraan," she whispered, wondering distantly where all the air in her lungs had gone.

"Yes," he said conversationally. "A beautiful planet, although I haven't visited it for many years. For some reason your father never extended an invitation."

"What are you doing," Leia finally forced out. "Aldaraan is a peaceful planet in a neutral system. We've made no move against the Empire!"

"All true, but Governor Tarkin has been rather persistent about displaying this station's full power, and without a military target, I'm afraid we must make due with what we have." He looked sideways at her as her planet grew slightly larger in the viewport as the station settled into a stable, if distant, orbit. "Of course, if you would like to provide us with another target, perhaps we can discuss alternatives."

Leia swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. She kept her eyes on the planet floating tranquilly beyond the viewport, and clenched her fists under the table.

"Dantooine," she finally whispered. "They're on Dantooine."

He looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. "Thank you, Senator." He turned back towards the viewport and then added to the man next to him, "Now, Tarkin, isn't it about time we fully tested this station's capabilities?."

Tarkin merely nodded and then strode to the communications grate embedded in the wall. "Commence the operation. You may fire when ready."

Leia didn't even fully realize she had stood up until she heard the crack of her chair hitting the deck plates and she cried, "What are you doing? You said you would spare us."

The corner of his mouth twisted up. "I said perhaps, Senator."

"Wait, you can't do this." She stumbled as she hit her hip hard against the corner of the table as she moved towards the viewport, her eyes still glued to Aldaraan. "Please don't do this. What do you have to—"

But it was too late for any arguments. The station shuddered, a bone deep hum of circuits heating up and then releasing, and then a spear of green light thrust past the viewport and her home disappeared in a brilliant burst of orange and red and white. She would have sunk to her knees, but Master Kenobi caught her arm in a viselike grip, forcing her to stay on her feet.

"Acceptable," he was saying, talking over her head to Tarkin. "Although somewhat brutish."

"You can't put down rabble with elegance, Master Kenobi," the Moff replied dryly.

"I suppose not," he replied evenly, and with that he passed her off to two stormtroopers.

As they half guided, half dragged her from the room, she heard Tarkin ask, "Shall I set course for Dantooine, then?"

"No need," Master Kenobi replied. "There'll be nothing there but the remains of some unimportant Rebel outpost. I'll send a scout ship."


	2. i don't know your hands anymore

**Summary:** For the first time in nineteen years, Siri Tachi has a padawan. But, since all things must be in balance, for the first time in nineteen years she also finds herself face to face with a Sith Lord.

 **i don't know your hands anymore**

He's not the kind of man she hates, per se. No, she doesn't hate him, but he smirks too much and leans across the table as if there isn't enough room on his side for all his affronted pride. Siri wishes, just for a moment, that she could tell him that he is like fine blown glass, that she can see through him, straight to the bottom, the same way she had been able to look into the still depths of the meditation pools in the temple and see every grain of sand in the river bed. This boy is all pride and bluster wrapped around an aching core, not a bad man, but a coward. She has met him on twenty different worlds wearing twenty different faces; he is the natural consequence of the Empire.

"You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon?" Solo asks, tilting his head, narrowing his eyes.

She tucks her hands into the wide sleeves of her cloak and diplomatically says, "No. Should I have?"

"It's the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than five parsecs."

It is reassuring to her that Luke has a faintly nonplussed expression on his face. He's naïve and young, so young, but at least he isn't buying this load of _chizzk_ any more than she is.

"I've outrun Imperial starships. Not the local bulk cruisers, mind you, I'm talking about the big Corellian ships now. She's fast enough for you, lady."

In another life, a past life, Siri would have leaned across the table herself and told him precisely what she thought about him and his boasts. But she is older now, and more patient, and the word "Jedi" no longer means much in the galaxy, so she merely smiles faintly.

"As you say."

He leans back, propping one ankle up on his opposite knee as if he is trying to take up even more space than he already does. "What's the cargo, then."

"Only passengers," she replies delicately. "Myself, my friend, and two droids. And," she adds, smiling prettily, glad that even nineteen years on this Force forsaken desert planet have been kind to her. "Of course, your discretion would be greatly appreciated."

He shifts in his seat, but the smirk not only stays in place, but widens. "What is it, some kind of local trouble?"

"I would rather avoid any, ah, Imperial entanglements."

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it? But it's gonna cost you something extra," he looks her over again, sizing her up. "Ten thousand, all in advance."

Luke, who had been blessedly silent before, now speaks up, disbelief cracking his youthful voice. "Ten thousand? We could practically buy our own ship for that."

"And who's gonna fly it, kid?" She can feel the disdain pouring off of the smuggler, a dusky stain on the Force, and wonders that the boy can't feel it as well. "You?"

"You bet I could, I'm not such a bad pilot myself," Luke says, reminding her more of his father every second. She's finding that she wants to box his ears about as frequently as well. "Come on, we don't have to listen to this."

She puts a hand on his arm under the table, keeping the polite smile tightly stitched to her face. He frowns but backs down, and she decides that the time has come to wrap up this conversation. There is a faint sense of danger pricking down her spine, the Force's urging to stand up, leave, disappear back into the winding alleys of Mos Eisley.

"Two thousand now," she says easily, and then makes a swift tactical move to ensure that there will be no further arguments. "And fifteen when we reach Alderaan."

"Seventeen, huh?" The satisfaction fairly flows off him. "Alright, you've got yourself a ship. We'll leave when you're ready. Docking bay ninety-four."

"Ninety-four," she replies as she stands, sensing the stormtroopers entering the bar behind her. "Always a pleasure doing business with a professional."

She manages to keep herself from rolling her eyes until she has turned around and begun to usher Luke from the bar, wrapping the Force around them with an effort before the troopers can notice them. The outside air is a scouring hot blast after the relative chill of the cantina, and Luke is still griping as they make their way back to the droids.

"That was ridiculous. Whatever that ship is, passage on it can't be worth seventeen thousand."

She chuckles quietly as she pulls her hood up over her graying blonde hair. "Don't worry about it," she says. "Trust the Force, Luke, and trust me. But you'll have to sell your speeder."

Suddenly morose, he just nods. "Yeah, whatever. It's not like I'm ever coming back to this planet again."

She slides into the passenger's seat, suddenly wishing that they had had more time, time for her to teach him here where there are no distractions, time to burry Owen and Beru (they were good, hardworking types and she is trying not to think of them too much), time, perhaps, to tell him more about his father. But this is the will of the Force, and so she just directs him towards the junk yard that will give him the highest price for the landspeeder.

...

The cold chill of space travel has never bothered her, but she can see Luke shivering as soon as they leave Tatooine's atmosphere. She takes off her cloak, draping it over his shoulders as he sits slumped on one of the acceleration couches in the main hold, and sinks down into the familiar lotus position on the cold deck plating, smoothing her tabards as she does so. Siri watches him for a moment, seeking his father out in his features and then his mother. He has her Nubian cheekbones, her nose, but that mop of hair and those bright blue eyes, those are all Anakin Skywalker. But just now he doesn't look like the son of a great senator and the hero of the Old Republic, he looks only cold and lost and, perhaps, a little bit afraid.

She breathes out a long calming breath, and then says, "There is so much to teach you, Luke, and we have very little time. Before the Empire, Jedi used to train for fifteen or twenty years before they were knighted," she pauses, almost tasting the ashes of the temple in the back of her throat. "But times have changed. All I can give you now is the Force, and the ability to protect yourself." She sighs. "I suppose it will have to be enough."

"I'll learn anything you'll teach me," he says, leaning forward almost desperately.

That coaxes a little bit of a smile from her. "Alright, come here."

He slides onto the deck plates across from her, and she extends her hands towards him, palms up. It takes him a moment to wrangle his still gangly limbs into the unfamiliar position, but then he reaches out his hands, and she takes them, a physical anchor for the spiritual.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs as the ship's engines downcycle in preparation for the hyperspace jump.

Then she reaches out for the Force. It's slippery, distant, and dark around the edges, just as it has been for all her years on Tatooine. Darker, perhaps, up here, as if the Dark has sunk itself into every ridge of the galaxy and nestled itself between the stars. She can only just touch it, but somehow it is enough. Luke catches hold of it and sinks deep into the rippling currents of the Force, and pulls her with him.

For perhaps a quarter of an hour, they sit still on the deck plating, paired lights shining in the Force, both learning and both teaching. Even when the engines rev and the ship shoots to lightspeed with a worryingly creaking groan, they don't move. He is a natural, she thinks, as she hears Solo's footsteps coming down the hallway from the cockpit and raises him from the trance by gently taking her hands away. A new Jedi for a new age.

She looks down at her boots and quickly wipes a tear from her cheek as Solo enters. Luke scrambles hastily to his feet when he sees him, and Siri smiles, just faintly. Well, no doubt he has talent, but he is still whiny, impetuous, and proud. In other words, he is still nineteen. No matter, she thinks, he will mature.

A moment later, there is a roar from down the hallway, and Solo, who had no doubt been about to open his big mouth, suddenly hurries out the door.

"What is it?" Luke asks, peering after the other man.

She shrugs nonchalantly, rising to her feet. "Something broke, probably." She nods at the lightsaber he had clipped at his hip. "Do you want to learn how to use that."

Luke's face lights up.

...

There are ghosts on this space station, and they are not just the ghosts of unlucky prisoners down in the detention blocks. Alderaan is a sinkhole in the Force, a bloody black pit that seems to suck at the space around it, and the Dark is screaming. It's deafening. She slips around another corner and hides herself in an alcove, slumping back against the cold metal grating of the wall and trying to remember how to breathe. This is what she imagines the temple must feel like now, cold corridors filled with half muted screams, except that perhaps the Death Star isn't quite so bad. It is only adjacent to the profane, not the profane itself.

Ultimately, she reaches the power terminal without being detected because years on years of stealth training and some conveniently placed ventilation shafts allowed her to avoid the most well patrolled corridors. The room is blessedly empty when she drops lightly from one of the air grates onto the catwalk below, but she still bites her lip to keep from huffing out a breath of pain when she rises from her crouch and her knees protest. Perhaps, she thinks mildly, this is a job for the young, for the next generation, for Luke and the princess he is running towards. As she slips behind the main column that holds the switches, a compliment of stormtroopers enters from one of the large doors at the end of the room and continues through, except for the pair left as guards.

These stormtroopers are nothing like their clone predecessors. One of them lounges against the doorframe while the other peers around anxiously.

"What do you think's going on?" the slouching one asks as Siri grabs one of the power gauges and pulls it down.

"Maybe it's a drill," the other says. "It's probably a drill."

The other sighs, which comes through his helmet mike as a rush of static. "So, have you seen that new BT-16?"

"Not yet," the trooper sounds dejected. "Some of the other guys were talking about it. It sounds like it's quite a thing to see."

Siri finishes with the other two power gauges, thinking that yes, a two meter tall spider droid with spiked legs and a repeating blaster canon would definitely be _something_ and that she profoundly hopes that she never has to see it. She takes a risk and prods at an empty storage container around the corner with the Force. It thumps, and the troopers turn towards the sound.

"What was that?" the more alert one asks.

"Probably nothing," the other replies as Siri slips through one of the other doors and back out into the corridors.

The pulse and hiss of the Dark is worse when necessity forces her to open her senses a little more and try to grasp for the Force. She is running down the last few corridors, the hanger bay just ahead, stopping only to flatten herself against a wall whenever another group of stormtroopers hustles by. It seems that her young friends have abandoned all pretense of stealth, and now the station is swarming with stormtroopers running down the corridors shouting things like, "They may be splitting up," or, "We think they may be on levels five and six now." It's useful information, only in that it tells her that they had ignored her one rule ("Be quiet about it," she had said to Luke, her eyes boring into his. "Do whatever you have to, but be quiet.") and that she is going to have to have _strong_ words with Solo and Skywalker when this is all over.

Or not, she thinks as her blood runs cold and her saber jumps off her belt and into her hand, an old reflex. She turns around and yes, there he is with his hood pulled up, shadowing his face, and his already ignited lightsaber in his hand. The clack of trooper boots is fading into the distance, so that the only sound in the corridor is the hum of his saber and the faint whisper of cloth as he pushes his hood back.

"Master Tachi," he says, and there is more emotion in his eyes than Siri has seen there since they were padawans together. She just wishes that the emotion wasn't hatred. "We've known each other for so long. Surely we can resolve this without any unpleasantness."

She looks down at his saber, the glow of which is hollowing his cheekbones out and giving his face a skeletal look.

"Somehow, I doubt it," she replies and ignites her own saber.

He smiles then, that little quirk of his lips that she used to love, the one that says that he is about to do something risky and flashy, and then he strikes, and she realizes that she is quite possibly outmatched. He is fast and strong, and his style is not what it used to be. That style she had known so well that she could practically anticipate his moves, but this is different, wilder, _darker_ , like everything else about him. Oh, it's still as sharp and precise as a razor's edge, but every time he swings his blade, she feels like the air around it rips and sucks at her, and it feels like blood in her eyes or mud sucking at her feet. He swings again and locks their blades together, their faces inches apart and he's snarling and all she can think is that she is too old and too slow and that Luke is going to be left utterly alone. He bears down on her with his blade, bringing her to her knees, only just barely keeping his blade away from her skin.

"We're a little old for this, Siri," he says, mocking, as she senses Luke entering the hanger.

She bares her teeth at him and doesn't bother to reply, instead calling with difficulty on the Force to shove the blades up so she can plant a foot solidly in his stomach. He stumbles back with a gasp, and she rolls away, wondering how long it's been since someone landed a hit on him. They square off, and he has naked anger on his face now. And in that moment, the Force unfolds for her like a flower, glimmering, bright, and she can see into the very heart of it.

"You can't win," she says as she settles into a familiar neutral guard, the Force burning in her heart and down through her veins just like it used to. "It doesn't matter if you drive that blade through my heart, you can't win anymore."

That's exactly what he does, with such a force that it drives the blade through to the hilt. Her saber falls from her nerveless hand, skittering on the deck plates, and she wishes that she could touch him with gentleness or with compassion, that she could scrape some of the Dark off his skin. But the Force is embracing her, and Luke is screaming, and now she is screaming back.

"Run, Luke! Run _now_."


End file.
